


Vinculum

by starcrossedgirl



Category: Doctor Who, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcrossedgirl/pseuds/starcrossedgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You didn't really think that Methos disappeared for that long after "<i>Archangel</i>" because he honestly didn't give a damn, did you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vinculum

**Author's Note:**

> This fic derived entirely from my eternal frustration of not finding _any_ Methos/Ten on the intarwebs. Honestly fandom, what's wrong with you? It turned out more angsty than smutty in the end, but that's alright -- I fully admit that Methos/Ten is not a pairing that would be all about the fluffy bunnies.  
>  Huge thanks for betaing and helpful comments go to chinawolf, kesomon, petulans (only he would leave beta comments incorporating mathematical equations!) and slashkilter. ♥  
>  **Disclaimer:** Neither Ten nor Methos belong to me, more's the pity. I have however, been blessed by their creation, so I suppose I can't complain too much.

"Absolutely NOT!"

It had been a long while, Methos reflected, since he'd had an offer of sex turned down quite so fervently. Unless you counted... But he'd never actually asked directly in that case and instead contented himself with flirting as blatantly as he felt he could get away with. So no, it definitely didn't count and besides, that had all become rather irrelevant at this point, leading neatly to his current conundrum – funny that. Normally a calculated tilt of his head whilst looking up just _so_ did the trick when combined with the right words. Then again, this was hardly an everyday seduction. Should've expected it to be more difficult, to be honest.

He glanced at the Doctor who remained frozen at the TARDIS console, mouth hanging slightly open in shock. Obviously he wasn't used to this sort of directness, or at least not from the people he allowed on board.

"Anyway," he continued after a beat, clearly having got over his initial surprise. "What is it with this human obsession with sex? It's enough to drive you mad sometimes – all throughout the existence of your civilisation it's all been about pornography. Even in Victorian times." He frowned. "Especially in Victorian times, really. It permeates your culture far more than is the case with most other species, did you know that? Art, literature, music – even some of the good songs, actually."

Methos shrugged. "It's fun?" he offered. "Regardless, I wouldn't have asked if I'd known it'd offend you so deeply." He decided to add a bit of a pout for good measure.

"Oh no, I'm not offended per se," the Doctor returned quickly, looking somewhat sheepish now as he raked a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more than usual. "It's quite flattering, really. I just don't do that sort of thing."

"All right." Methos smiled, vaguely amused at the sudden change of tone.

A brief pause followed, during which the Doctor clearly attempted to look apologetic despite the tension remaining in his shoulders, and Methos probably would have dropped it, if his earlier words hadn't sounded quite so condescending. If there was one thing he hated, it was being talked down to. That was _his_ job, thank you very much.

"So what, Time Lords are asexual?" He waved his hand for emphasis. "None of that silly procreation stuff for you, is that it?"

"Yes. Well, when I say yes, I really mean no. Kind of. It's not quite that simple."

"Now you've lost me."

"You're right in that we don't have the same biological imperatives driving us. No need for sex when you reproduce through technology, see? But we're definitely capable of engaging in and enjoying the process if we want to." He paused in thought for a moment. "Personally, I just get distracted by more important things, really."

"And here I thought that was a general character flaw."

That earned him a dirty look, although not the kind he'd been hoping for.

"Very funny. Anyway, yes I can and have had sex, but it just doesn't capture my attention like other things do."

Methos reflected on that for a moment, then slowly made his way to the rickety pilot's chair.

"Really," he drawled, sprawling across it to the best of his ability. He picked up the sonic screwdriver from the console before him, twirling it in his fingers before resting its tip against parted lips in a blatant gesture.

The Doctor actually flushed, – oh, he did look _ever_ so lovely when he was in a snit - rushed over and ripped the instrument from Methos' fingers with quite a bit more force than necessary.

"Don't do that!" he growled, then, seemingly collecting himself somewhat, regarded Methos with distinct annoyance written all over his face. "I thought we'd established that this wasn't going to happen."

Methos shook his head slowly. "Oh no. We established that sex isn't a priority for you, sure. Got that. But..." he spread his legs a little wider so they enclosed the Doctor's thighs where he was standing, and took in the brief widening of pupils delightedly, "there's nothing more pressing to do as far as I'm concerned. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but we're currently floating across space's equivalent of the Sahara, waiting for the TARDIS to repair herself and until she's done with that we've only got access to absolutely essential rooms. Which means," he began to tick off each item on a finger, "no library, no pool room, no messing about with clothes in the biggest wardrobe I've ever seen - though I've never been one for dressing up to begin with - not even that weird floaty room with white walls that reminds me a little too much of a psychiatric ward -"

"Zero room," the Doctor interjected automatically, and Methos nodded.

"Thanks. Anyway, point being – I've slept almost fifty hours in the last three days, and that's pushing it even for me, and if I take another damn bath I'm never going to recover from the pruning." He went for his most petulant expression with the next words. "I'm BORED! And unless you have a better reason than 'oh, I'm just not that fussed' – which frankly I rather expect you do, because nobody reacts that violently to something they're simply not interested in – I really don't see why we _shouldn't_ have sex." He reached out to trail the Doctor's tie through his fingers, caressing the silk and looked up expectantly.

"I... Well." The Doctor appeared speechless for a moment, something Methos considered a not inconsiderable personal triumph. After all, the man was as verbose as the day was long, and that didn't necessarily mean twenty-four hours as he'd recently discovered.

"You see, the thing is," the Doctor said, looking rather serious now, his brow once again furrowed, "the thing is that I've made it a personal rule not to sleep with any of my companions. Ever." He let out a sigh and turned his head, staring at the time rotor as if he hadn't seen it countless times before. "Because humans," he paused, then looked straight back at Methos, "well, they're just so very human, you know? It begins with one inconsequential, enjoyable shag, and then they get all emotional about it, and before you know what's happened, there's a puppy in your spaceship and talk of a starlit wedding on the beaches of Barcelona and which planet has the nicest picket fences."

Methos raised an eyebrow in amusement at the consternation in the Doctor's voice, who, clearly having got into his stride now, barely seemed to be paying attention to him anymore.

"And even the ones that aren't romantically inclined get awkward. If they just want sex, they'll automatically assume it'll happen again if it was good – which it would be, of course – and then they get upset if you're more interested in a multiphasic beryllium relay than spending the day in bed. But if they think they're in love with you it gets even worse, then it's all jealousy and awkwardness, and the point I am making – don't give me that look, there is one! – is that sex is the first step into a minefield of human emotions. Which are utterly fascinating in their intensity, I'm not denying that, but it just becomes this tangled mess that leads to all sorts of unpleasantness. Now, if it really were just a singular occurrence without any of those repercussions, then that'd be fine, but humans simply have no control whatsoever over that sort of thing. Biological imperative and all that."

Methos, having long since abandoned the tie in an attempt to avoid the enthusiastic, expansive gestures that accompanied the Doctor's words, crossed his arms leisurely in front of his chest, grinning.

"Nah, usually they don't, you have a point there," he responded sympathetically. "What?" he prompted at the doubtful expression, complete with pinched lips that took over the Doctor's face.

"Think you've got your personal pronouns confused there."

He cocked his head to the side. "Really? You don't think having hung around for five thousand years might set me apart somewhat from your garden variety homo sapiens?"

"Well, yes. But you're still human, Immortal or not."

"And _you_ still have emotions." Methos narrowed his eyes slightly. "I know I haven't been travelling with you that long yet, although it is a bit difficult to keep track of time in here, but I'm not stupid, you know."

"I wasn't saying you were! But it's different. I'm different. You know that." He shot Methos a significant look.

Methos sighed exasperatedly. "I do. And I'm not claiming that I don't experience the odd bout of intense emotional stupidity now and then." And that was really not something he should admit to, but hell, he rather doubted the Doctor would ever take advantage of his confession, not with that annoying predilection for Doing The Right Thing he liked to display at every opportunity. What was it with him and boy-scouts anyway? It seemed to be a rather worrying trend he'd acquired in the last century or so, and he wasn't entirely sure he approved of it. "I'm just saying that maybe watching generation after generation of mortals pass me by has given me some sort of perspective. It certainly gets frustrating enough to watch them make the same bloody mistakes over and over again."

"That why you decided to come with me?" the Doctor asked curiously, sliding his hands into his pockets and looking a lot more relaxed all of a sudden, if no less intent.

"Something like that." Methos shrugged and focussed on the grating beneath his feet for a moment. When had this become all about him? Clever bastard. He snapped his eyes up sharply. "Anyway, you're avoiding the point."

"The point being that it would be a horrible mistake to fall in love with me?" Definitely more relaxed now – the cheeky grin that accompanied the minute back and forth movement of trainers on the floor made that obvious. Methos couldn't help but smile a bit – the Doctor did cute almost as well as him, really.

"Well, yes," he said bluntly, then gestured between the two of them. "Just look at us – we're barely able to have a conversation without pissing each other off. I expected you to drop me back off home after a week at most. Might have been better for all concerned, to be honest."

Now the Doctor looked mildly offended again, and that? That was just so much better. They'd begun their game of one-upmanship pretty much the instant they'd met and whilst Methos thoroughly enjoyed the verbal sparring with someone who could comfortably keep pace with him, it was even more enjoyable to gain the upper hand once in a while and make the cocky sod lose his cool. Very, very enjoyable, in fact.

"But that doesn't mean," he grabbed hold of the tie again, this time using it to pull the Doctor down until he was crouching in front of the chair, face level with Methos, "that I'm not still interested in having you fuck me through that very comfortable bed a few doors down the corridor." He pulled the Doctor just a little closer, taking in the slightly open mouth, feeling cool breath gust over his lips. Oh yes, definitely making progress here. "As a strictly singular occurrence, of course. No expectations of it ever happening again, promise." A quirk of his lips. "So?"

The Doctor swallowed, opened his mouth, closed it again and finally settled for a frown.

"I still don't have anything but your word that you won't become emotionally unstable over this, you realise," he said, but he made no attempt to pull back, either. Still some hesitation then, but the Doctor wasn't as opposed to the idea as he wanted Methos to believe – he could deal with that.

"Do I strike you as someone who likes to takes risks a lot?"

The Doctor actually laughed in his face, the sound bubbling out bright and spontaneously.

"With the way you rant at me for getting into trouble all the time? Not likely." Then, much more soberly: "You're quite unusual in that respect, you know. Most people decide to travel with me _because_ of the adventure and running, not despite it." His brows lifted in a quizzical expression. "Which begs the question why you're here to begin with."

Methos huffed in annoyance and tugged on the tie sharply before letting it go. "Is this what you meant by getting distracted easily, or are you deliberately trying to miss my point here?" Honestly, if this went on for much longer, he'd just shelve the bloody idea – no matter how much he'd like to get laid right now, it simply wasn't worth the aggravation. Besides, this constant questioning of his motivations was starting to make him ever so slightly jittery, crossing a line that he'd set very firmly in place ages ago, for very good reasons.

His feelings must have shown more clearly on his face than he'd wanted them to, because all of a sudden, a hand covered his own in a light grip. "Sorry," the Doctor said gently. "None of my business what your reasons were. You were saying?"

"I was saying that I'm not prone to jumping into things without considering all the angles first. If you honestly think I'd risk messing everything up and being left on some random planet as a consequence, and all that for a shag, your marvellous Time Lord brains can't be all that marvellous."

The Doctor snorted. "For someone with all your experience, your seduction technique is a bit lacking, you know."

"If you did me the favour of shutting up for just one minute," Methos muttered under his breath, reaching out to trail his fingernails slowly along the nape of the Doctor's neck, "you'd realise how very, very wrong you are." And with that, he pulled him closer still, nipping firmly on his bottom lip which was cool but smooth against his own, before opening the Doctor's mouth with his tongue and doing his best to snog the pain in the arse senseless.

It was ultimately him who broke the kiss first, but that didn't matter so much anymore, not when the Doctor's cheeks were flushed that lovely colour again and he could feel the pulse thudding noticeably more strongly against his own fingers. His breath was shallow and quick as he regained much-needed oxygen, and that delicious warmth of arousal was starting to pool low in his stomach.

"Well," the Doctor conceded with a quirk of his lips. "You may be rubbish at flirting, but you've certainly learnt how to kiss."

"That a yes then? Or," a swift lick of that smooth throat which the Doctor leaned into with a little sigh, "do you still think I won't be able to hold your attention?"

"Just this once." The firm voice made it a statement rather than a question.

"Just this once," Methos confirmed regardless when he rose to his feet, pulling the Doctor up with him.

If his grin was a little smug as he led the way to his bedroom, that was perfectly justified, he figured. It was good to know he hadn't lost his touch after all.

\-----

"So, how do you want to do this, then?"

Methos looked up from the task of unlacing his boots to find the Doctor still standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, and most decidedly not undressing. Was he going to have to do _everything_ himself? Honestly.

He chucked his footwear across the room with a little more force than necessary, flinching as the expected ‘thud' was followed by the sound of something breakable shattering as it fell off his dressing table.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, his indulgent smile widening into a full-on grin.

Ah well. This sort of thing happened.

"Getting rid of some of those layers might be a good idea," he snarked, then pulled his own jumper over his head.

"That really wasn't what I meant, and you know that full well." But the pinstripe jacket was removed nevertheless, exposing long, lean arms now covered only in thin white fabric. Methos would bet quite a bit that they were deceptively strong. "I don't need page-by-page instructions, but everyone has their little quirks and preferences." A nonchalant shrug. "Just thought it would be polite to check first."

"Funny that," Methos commented as he strolled over, then nipped sharply at the earlobe so temptingly within reach. "I'd have thought if anyone should be asking that question it'd be me. For all I know, you could be wired up completely differently in here." He emphasised his last words with a brush of lips against temple.

"Is that what prompted this? Shag-the-alien curiosity?"

Methos let his head sink to the Doctor's shoulder with a pained groan. How had he ever thought this was a good idea?

"You gonna sulk now?" It came out a little more acidly than he'd intended.

The Doctor whipped his head back sharply at that.

"I don't sulk! Well, not much, in any case. And not about this – curiosity's a perfectly normal thing for humans after all, really, one of their best features, so I wouldn't begrudge you that." He reached out to trail his hand gently down the side of Methos' face, down towards his neck and scratched lightly, and oh yes, that spot had always been so very, very sensitive...

"I'm just interested in what brought this on, that's all. It was all rather abrupt, you have to admit. " The words penetrated Methos' mind hazily, so caught up was he in the pleasurable trance-like state that the rhythmic caress had pulled him into, but once they'd actually sunk in enough to make sense – that was _it_.

Methos forced his eyes open, willed his hand to drag the Doctor's away, then backed him up against the wall in one swift movement.

"What brought this on," he hissed, insinuating one leg between the Doctor's and pushing against him, the friction sending lovely sparks through his cock where it connected with solid muscle and bone, "is the fact that it's been way too long since I've been fucked nice and hard. And to be honest," he thrust again with a bit more force, and ah, definitely no compatibility issues on that front given the answering pressure that was building against his thigh, "I'm getting really tired of all this teasing, so could we perhaps just get on with it for once?"

A long, drawn out kiss was his answer and Methos accepted it greedily, happily; the coolness of that tongue still unfamiliar but no less exciting as his hands struggled to find space between them to unbutton the Doctor's shirt. In the end he had to draw his lower body away slightly to gain enough room, their mouths still fused together wetly. But then his trousers were opened deftly, his cock suddenly stroked in a firm grip, a thumb swiping across the head to gather up the moisture there, spreading it downwards, and Methos found himself clinging to the Doctor's shirttails, moaning into his mouth as the pleasure seemed to turn his legs to liquid. The feeling of smooth skin under his palms was far too enticing though, so he persisted in removing the offending garment without ending up on the floor himself, which wasn't that easy a task.

Somehow they ended up with the Doctor's shirt hanging oddly off his right arm, brushing Methos' thighs with every delicious stroke to his cock whilst he panted open-mouthed against the Doctor's neck. Then the bastard found that spot just under his ear again, first with tongue, then with teeth, and _sucked_ sharply. Methos yelped in surprise, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the Doctor's back as he lost his balance, both of them almost tumbling over.

The Doctor chuckled against his ear, clearly amused. "That any better then?" he questioned, and Methos couldn't help but smile against the curve of his neck despite the hand that was still caressing him lightly. He drew back slowly, his body not quite willing to let go, and delivered a haphazard kiss that landed on the Doctor's jaw along the way.

"Much, thank you, but I'd appreciate if we could move this to the bed." He raised an eyebrow. "That prevalent pornography you mentioned earlier seems to think sex standing up is a great idea, but I've personally always found it to be a bit... unstable."

"Quite." The Doctor was gazing raptly at the shirt hanging from his raised wrist with a quizzical expression. "You know, I'm pretty certain this violates some sort of physical law."

He was still staring by the time Methos had kicked off his jeans and located the clear bottle in his bedside drawer – he had no idea what the stuff was, having come across it in one of the other bedrooms together with an interesting assortment of sex toys, but it was damn good – his left hand rubbing the back of his neck absentmindedly as he contemplated the Great Shirt Mystery. Easily distracted seemed to be putting it a bit mildly, Methos decided whilst he made himself comfortable on the soft sheets.

"And I'm pretty sure I don't give a fuck. Speaking of which..."

The shirt went flying to the floor, followed shortly by a pair of trainers and socks and then the Doctor was standing by the side of the bed, looking down at him.

"A little impatient, are we?" His authoritative tone was spoiled slightly by his tousled hair and general lack of clothes. And the visible bulge tenting his slacks for that matter, although he was still far too calm for Methos' taste. Hmmm. Methos looped a finger under the waistband to draw him closer, rubbing his cheek against the solid length of cock underneath the material, then looked up from under his lashes.

"Not you, clearly. Think I'm losing my touch?"

Before the Doctor could respond though, he'd pushed both trousers and briefs down long legs quickly and efficiently. Once you'd dealt with togas and all sorts of ceremonial robes, zips were a piece of cake, really. As Methos had expected, the Doctor's cock looked as human as everything else about him, and the firm slim length of it made his mouth water in anticipation, so he leaned forward, drawing his tongue along the underside in an explorative lick. As with his kisses there was the slightest hint of something unusual in its taste, a sharp edge that was new and foreign but rather enticing. Methos set to work in earnest, drawing him into his mouth, and fuck, it really had been too long since he'd done this, even longer than his last proper shag, and how could he have forgotten how much he loved to suck someone like this? He loved the feeling of thigh muscles contracting under his hands as he held on, the sensation of heavy flesh sliding across his tongue and into his throat, the musky smell of skin so close by, even the slight light-headedness that enveloped him when he forgot to take a breath here and there.

It was the Doctor's hand pushing gently against his shoulder that made him pause and retreat eventually.

"Not good?" he managed, his voice coming out somewhat raspy. The quiet gasps from above him had certainly sounded like enjoyment, but then perhaps he was right about the different wiring after all.

"Oh, no. That was exceptionally lovely." A hand stroked through his hair, and Methos resisted the ridiculous urge to purr that welled up from somewhere. "It just occurred to me that I'm still standing."

He couldn't help but grin at that.

"So you are." Methos grabbed the Doctor's hand to draw him onto the bed, but found himself flipped to his front in a surprisingly stealthy manoeuvre in the same instant. "Hey!" he exclaimed in surprise, somewhat indignant at the sudden change of pace.

"I thought this was what you wanted?" The Doctor's breath moved against his neck as he spoke, one hand trailing down Methos' spine far too lightly for his taste. His voice held that smug hint of superiority once more, and even here, now, it grated, made Methos want to give as good as he got.

"Maybe I'm reconsidering whether you've got it in you to top me, is all," he snarked, squirming against the slick fingers that slid easily, but again far too gently, into him. Hell if he was going to let himself be treated like some pet that was being indulged. "After all, I've yet to see any special sort of Time Lord prowess."

"Oh really now," the Doctor murmured, his voice becoming deeper, almost aggressive. "How about _this_ then?"

He curled his fingers sharply, but it wasn't the pressure against his prostate that suddenly had Methos on edge. Electricity seemed to be racing up his spine, and then he was lost in a turmoil of swirling colours and sensations, could feel himself from the inside, tightly enclosing his fingers, the taste of individual molecules of air in his mouth, the distant pull of time converging and diverging, pulsing around them with an insistent throb, and it was too damn much, so much that he momentarily fought not to come over the rushing of blood in his ears.

Then the feeling was gone, abruptly as it had started, and he was left shuddering on the bed, empty and stunned.

"Sorry," the Doctor was saying from somewhere to the side. "I shouldn't have done that." His voice shook a little on the last few words, as if he was almost as thrown as Methos himself.

"What the hell was that?!" he brought across his lips, pushing himself up on his elbows to face the Doctor – who looked remarkably like he'd just kicked a puppy, or something equally dreadful. The motion jolted his stomach unpleasantly, so he rolled onto his side slowly and concentrated on breathing deeply for a moment. His head was still spinning somewhat.

The Doctor was gazing off to the side as if he couldn't bear looking at him. "That was me," he said, the words forced through clenched teeth in a whisper.

"I'm not following."

A shake of the head. "Doesn't matter. I knew this was a bad idea. I should be going."

Methos moved with a speed that few people would have credited him with, grabbing an angular wrist firmly to pull the Doctor back down as he attempted to rise from the bed.

"Like hell you are." Ah, at least he was facing him now. "I think the least you owe me is an explanation, don't you?"

The Doctor blinked, turned his head, sighed, looked back at Methos, then finally focussed on the bed, his fingers nervously twisting the soft fabric beneath them.

"We – that is, Time Lords – we're touch telepaths. It –"He took a deep breath, paused.

And then Methos understood.

"You got inside my head!?" Of all the things that could happen to him, this was honestly – well he didn't know what it was, except that it was pissing him off. A lot. A whole fucking lot, actually. "Who on earth gave you the right –"

"No one. You don't think I know that?" The Doctor's voice was pleading, his eyes impossibly wide, his hands clenching the sheets between them. "What I just did breaks about every rule there is for this sort of thing, and I'm fully aware of that." He closed his eyes, jaw tight and tense, and Methos felt his anger slide away, not instantly, but slowly, thick like molasses. If there was one thing he recognised, it was desperation – he'd certainly seen his fair share of it, and the Doctor's regret felt genuine to him. And after all, hadn't he kind of asked for it?

But he didn't quite trust himself to speak and not go for the jugular, not yet at least, so he bit his lip instead, forced himself to be patient for the time being.

"I didn't mean for that to happen," the Doctor continued quietly, still not looking at him. "Not like that. I just meant to give you a little jolt, nothing invasive, nothing..." He broke off, then started again. "And I know this is no excuse, but it's been so long since I've... well..." He trailed off, clearly at a loss for words, and Methos felt something click into place somewhere.

Ah.

"It's normal for you, isn't it?" he questioned, curiosity and sympathy winning out over what resentment was left. "Mental contact goes hand in hand with physical intimacy, is that it?"

He knew he'd hit the nail on the head when the Doctor promptly stared up at him, mouth opened slightly, guilt still written in every line of his face. Yet he seemed unable to confirm the words, and Methos found himself reaching out, extending a hand to cup that face gently in his palm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it was going to be an issue. I mean, yes, you are right, for us it is an integral element of this, much more so than the physical side of things, actually. But we can engage in sex without it and it's still a pleasant experience in itself, just not... complete."

"Kind of like sex without an orgasm?"

"If you like." The Doctor frowned. He grasped Methos' hand gently, turning it palm up and stroking it once, a slow touch that sparked nerves all the way to his fingertips. Then he raised his head, a puzzled frown marring his brow. "You should be angry at me."

A smile spread over Methos' face at that. "Yeah, you're right, I probably should."

"For once you actually have every right in the universe to shout at me as much as you like, and you're choosing this moment to be sympathetic?" The Doctor shook his head emphatically. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but you do realise you're making no sense whatsoever here, yes?"

"I am a very special and complex individual?"

The Doctor snorted, shooting him a dubious glance, but he still didn't look entirely comfortable. Strangely enough, Methos found that he _wanted_ him to be, and not simply because he'd dealt with enough brooding in the past few years to last him a century. There was something about the look in his eyes, the way he'd been so _present_ when it happened, actually involved in what they were doing, if only for an instant, and the way he had pulled back now, retreated somewhere very distant once more – he knew what that felt like. Far too intimately, in fact.

"Maybe I can empathise," he commented, letting his head sink down to rest on his folded arm.

"With not taking the little issue of consent into account because it's inconvenient? With violating someone intrinsically, for nothing but selfish reasons?"

Hadn't made it in quite that deep after all then, had he? The realisation was comforting, and suddenly Methos felt very calm, the very definition of Zen for the first time in far too long. It was a good feeling, and he relished it, almost bursting out in laughter at the whole situation. Oh, they really did make quite the pair.

"With being overwhelmed and getting carried away," he murmured, brushing the Doctor's lips gently with his own. "With feeling cut-off and needing to connect on some level," he slung his arm over pale shoulders, drawing the Doctor into a loose embrace. "It didn't exactly feel horrible, you know."

The Doctor squirmed a little, and Methos was bizarrely reminded of calming a skittish colt. "That isn't any excuse though," he muttered against his shoulder.

It didn't escape Methos' attention that he neither confirmed nor denied the suppositions voiced, which he could accept - but he also didn't see much point in responding. For a while they just lay silently and Methos let himself enjoy the feel of the smooth back under his hands as he stroked it, gratified that the Doctor allowed it for all that he still seemed miles away. Strange, Methos mused, how he'd come looking for some simple and direct pleasure and found... this instead. One would think he'd have worked out by now that life never went as planned.

"Is it always like that?" he eventually said into the silence between them, curiosity winning out.

The Doctor drew back with a sigh as if it took some effort, and propped up his head on his hand, coming to look down at Methos. "Like what, precisely? As far as I know the exact sensations are unique to everybody, but of course there are common elements."

"So... intense. Overwhelming." He shifted onto his back, remembering just how it had felt, and whilst his mind still shied away from the enormity of it, his body chose that moment to remember the sizzling energy that had flooded it so recently. "A bit like your head's about to explode, along with other parts."

The Doctor's smile was a bit sheepish. "Well, it can be, yes. Not that I'd usually push it to that limit with a non-telepath, you're not exactly built for it. It kind of ran away with me, you see, I normally have much better control than that. It was a stupid thing to do really, but your mind is rather... intriguing, if a bit messy. Not that that's –"

"- any excuse, yes I know." Oh, this was a bad, bad idea, Methos realised that, but after all the effort he'd put into convincing the Doctor... Now he had him right here, lying naked next to him and his libido insisted quite fiercely that he hadn't finished what had begun so promisingly. And he wasn't likely to get another opportunity quite like this anytime soon, or ever, for that matter, was he?

"So you could turn it down a notch then?" he questioned, his voice sounding gravelly and rough to his own ears as he trailed a hand down the Doctor's chest, then up again to circle a nipple slowly.

The Doctor's eyes widened almost alarmingly. "You can't honestly still want to go through with this."

"Provided you can promise to keep out of things that aren't your business, I don't see why not."

"Your memories, you mean."

Methos gave him a pointed look. "Yes. I don't want to know what you've seen already if you have, can't really do much about that right now." He shrugged. "But I'd still really like to get laid, and provided I can keep some privacy, the fact that you could probably make me come without touching me doesn't exactly make me uninclined. Besides," he raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge, "I think you owe me."

"Well," the Doctor managed after a brief pause. "I can keep it to surface emotions and sensations, yes. If you're really sur-"

Methos decided to shut him up with a rather enthusiastic snog – there were only so many cliches he could take, and the last thing he wanted to do was burst into laughter; somehow he didn't get the impression the Doctor would appreciate that right now. The kiss quickly turned into something else though, and he sighed in pleasure, feeling the Doctor relax against him, not pliant at all but very much present as he breathed in the sound.

"Is that going to be enough?" he asked when they finally broke apart again.

"Plenty." The Doctor's eyes were luminous, a tentative smile curling the corners of his mouth, as if some part of him still expected Methos to throw him out of the bed in a heartbeat. Then, quietly but firmly, "Turn over."

The soft sheets brushed Methos' cock when he did so, sending his pulse just a little higher. And then the fingers were back, gentle but insistent, this time unaccompanied by any explosive surprise.

"You still want this, yes?" the Doctor murmured against the back of his neck, twisting just so and Methos pushed back eagerly, the pressure against his prostate too much of a tease, not quite enough.

"Why don't you find out," he said, and this time he was prepared as the Doctor moulded himself to his back, the sparks rushing through his nerves just the same. The rest was very different through, no jolting sense of displacement this time but a liquid flow of emotions that blanketed him, amazement and affection tempered with an edge of nervousness that swiftly disappeared.

It was oddly familiar, bizarrely enough, in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on until it came to him suddenly that it was the quality of emotions that were throwing him off course. The one time he'd felt this melding sensation before, in a hotel room in Bordeaux, it had been nowhere near as soft, dominated by anger and distrust, Quickening-inspired lust and desperation, but it was unmistakable all the same.

Before he could process what it meant though, the fingers had left him and his body took over as the Doctor entered him with one smooth thrust. He tried to hold on to the thought, but he couldn't think like this, didn't want to think when he was being opened up so completely, no longer sure where he ended and the Doctor began.

It was rough and fast, and exactly what he'd wanted, except that he hadn't anticipated to feel so connected when he'd first suggested this. He shuddered as his hips rose to meet each thrust, setting a pace that couldn't last, not when the Doctor was groaning against his neck and he could feel how this affected him, how he wrapped himself in Methos' sensations and arousal and how wonderful it was to be so close to someone again, because it had been so long...

The undercurrent of loneliness there cut straight through him and he deliberately forced his body to be still, slowing their frantic movement, dragging things out. It took several attempts to raise his hand but eventually he managed, curling it around the nape of the Doctor's neck, drawing him closer physically whilst struggling to navigate the alien territory of their link to reach out with his mind at the same time.

"I'm here," he whispered, although he couldn't have said for the life of him whether the words ever passed his lips. The message apparently got through though, because the next thing he knew he was enveloped in an acute sense of gratitude that seemed to wash through every cell in his body, filling him up to bursting as electricity spread in its wake.

He choked on a sob when orgasm rushed through him without warning, flayed nerves flooding him with endorphins, but in all its intensity there was a strange calm because the Doctor was part of him, sharing this in a way that shook him to the bones. By the time he remembered how to breathe he wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry, or perhaps both. He settled for neither in the end, floating languidly instead whilst the Doctor caressed his side, still pressed against him from head to toe.

"Can I ask you a question?" he heard after a while, just as his brain was starting to recall that there was something he ought to investigate.

"Hmmm?" No, he definitely wasn't quite with it, yet. Now if he could only remember what had been so important...

"When I first, uh, made contact for want of a better word, you were... stunned, and then there was something else that you seemed to be blocking. I didn't want to intrude, I just wanted to make sure that it wasn't anything I did, not that I got that impression, but..."

Oh bloody hell.

"I've felt this before," he heard himself say, tonelessly.

"Well yes, which was why I didn't expect for it to hit you this hard again. I mean, I did my best to make the transition as smooth as possible this time-"

"No, that's not what I meant." Methos dislodged himself from the Doctor, turning around so he could face him. "I didn't recognise it immediately, because the situation was so different, but I've done this before today. Made contact. Mind-melded, whatever you want to call it."

The Doctor appeared nonplussed. "Really?" He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly pondering the unexpected statement. "That's rather odd, but I suppose it's technically possible."

Methos resisted the hysterical urge to grab his shoulders and shake him, to demand an explanation immediately, that bubbled up deep inside him. There was no point in letting on how thrown he was, that would only lead to too much interest. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to share this revelation, so he let his face express only open curiosity, a look polished to perfection during his time spent as Adam Pierson.

"Oh?" he prompted when this didn't result in an immediate response.

"Right, sorry, got a bit distracted there, of course it wouldn't make sense to you. You see, humans do have low level telepathic potential, so it's not out of the question, but on the other hand what we just did isn't exactly low level, it's more of a precursor to forming a permanent link, or at least it would be if you were Gallifreyan. Was this other person another Immortal by any chance?"

"Yes," Methos admitted slowly, then did a double-take. "Sorry, permanent link?"

The Doctor waved a hand carelessly in the air between them. "If you were Gallifreyan, I said. It's a sort of, well, the English language really doesn't have the right vocabulary to express it, but suffice to say it used to be established between married couples among my people. The ultimate form of pair-bonding, if you will. No risk of that having happened with us, I promise – for one, I'd have to be the one to initiate it – and trust me, you'd know. This was a temporary fusion of sorts and now we're back to being separate individuals; with a link you'd be getting a permanent awareness of your partner, a sense of increased empathy for their emotions even across some distance. Kind of like looking at the world through a thin piece of cloth."

Methos' stomach fell.

"Anyway," the Doctor continued cheerfully, "to answer your first question, I suppose it's possible that your Quickenings could have acted as a conduit in that instance. Quite fascinating, really, I don't think I've heard of anything like that before, although it makes an awful lot of sense."

Methos nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His mind felt eerily blank and he let his head sink back onto the pillow, closed his eyes. What he really needed right now was some time alone to think, because there was no way in hell the Doctor wouldn't pick up on the fact that something wasn't quite right if he stayed.

He was debating his best means of escape when a gentle nudge to his ribs rescued him.

"I'm going to take a shower before I check on the TARDIS, you want to join me?"

Methos opened his eyes halfway and performed what he was sure had to be an Oscar-worthy yawn. "Feeling kinda sleepy, actually, think I'll have a bit of a nap," he drew each word out just a bit to achieve the desired effect. "Predictable human physiology and all that."

The Doctor smiled softly, then bounced off the bed with far too much energy for someone who'd just engaged in a bout of rather intense shagging. Methos listened to the rustle of scattered clothes being picked up, holding his breath until he heard the click of the door to the bathroom closing firmly.

Then he rolled onto his side, curling into a foetal position and swallowed heavily against the pressure building beneath his sternum.

He really had two options, as he saw it, try to ignore the new information that had come his way so unexpectedly, or go face the music. He'd never particularly liked the latter, but then again he'd run as far as he possibly could, run straight into a spaceship that took him to different galaxies and impossibly far into the future of all things, and he was still being haunted by MacLeod. Duncan, he should really call him Duncan, after all they were pair-bonded, weren't they? A hysterical giggle burst up at that thought, and he bit his lip sharply, the pain helping him reassert some semblance of control.

It had been the double Quickening, no doubt about that, although the immediate physical contact afterwards had probably helped – or not helped, depending on how you looked at it. A huge mess, all of it, right from the start and he should've known better than to get involved in the first place. How on earth could he have fooled himself into thinking that he'd managed to pull that one off despite the odds when the tension between him and MacLeod had been thicker than ever, when he couldn't make himself leave although he had every intention of doing so? How much of the sense of betrayal he'd felt, holed up in his flat in the following weeks, had genuinely been his? How much of the loss? Kronos, he was sure, must be rolling around in his grave, laughing himself silly.

And what was he supposed to do now? Could he continue to ignore that empty place inside him that had left him tossing and turning these past weeks, that had opened up the moment he ran, not even bothering to check if Duncan was still around, his request that Methos take his head still ringing in his ears, leaving his own buzzing with white noise? For that matter, could he leave Duncan to deal on his own, leave him to cope with his student's death at his own hand when he'd barely seemed stable to begin with?

It had seemed so pointless at the time with the overwhelming despair and grief rampaging through him – grief which he now realised had not been solely his own. He'd been sure Duncan had lost it completely; that there was nothing he could do to reach him anymore, not after this. But knowing what he knew now, was that still the case? If he figured out a way to use this link somehow, perhaps he could, perhaps he could fix things as much as that was ever possible. Didn't the one person he cared most about on that godforsaken world deserve him taking that risk? Didn't he himself deserve at least the chance to make things right between them?

He almost didn't hear the sound of the door opening, so absorbed in his thoughts was he. Immediately willing his limbs to relax, he kept his breathing low and even, with the practise of someone who'd had to feign sleep on occasions where far more was at stake than exposing his feelings, but his thoughts were still spinning as he heard the Doctor approach the bed quietly, soft footsteps padding across carpeted floor. And yet he had to force himself to lie perfectly still when the covers were carefully pulled over him.

The whispered "Thank you." was almost too low for him to hear, the hand brushing his hair soft and gentle. It should have been comforting, this acknowledgement, but instead it left him more raw than Methos could ever remember feeling before in his life.

\---

"Right, the old girl's all fixed up again, ready for action, no more boredom on the cards!" the Doctor grinned when Methos stepped into the control room the next morning – or what passed for morning around here, at least. "Where do you want to go?"

"Actually," Methos said slowly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his coat, his Ivanhoe a heavy weight against his side, "I need you to take me home."

He smiled a little sadly, watching as the Doctor's face fell, as he went from excitement to confusion, then consternation. As expected, the words he'd predicted weren't long in coming.

"See?" the Doctor exclaimed, "I knew this would happen. I told you so in fact! Didn't I tell you so?" He began to pace, raking his hands through his hair, grabbing at tufts of it so it stood up on end. It would have been amusing to watch, if it weren't for the solid knot in Methos' own stomach.

Then the Doctor stopped abruptly, coming to a halt just beside the pilot's chair, resting heavily on it as he faced Methos, his face a dead mask.

"It was the link, wasn't it?" he said, the flat delivery making it more of a statement than a question. "I should have known you'd think it over and freak out. But I honestly thought..." He trailed off, letting his head fall, staring at the grating beneath his feet although Methos was sure he wasn't really seeing it.

It would have been so easy to agree, to say kindly but firmly that the whole episode had been a little jolting and that he needed some time to sort his head out. In fact, he'd more or less settled on that plan whilst lying awake last night, feeling far too exposed already and not sure if he could cope with any more right now.

Then again, some part of him had known very well at the time that it was a lie when he told himself the Doctor would be fine with it, that he'd be able to move on without paying it much attention. That man did guilt almost as well as MacLeod, although he was rather more subtle about it. And wasn't he ultimately doing this to avoid anyone being hurt even more?

He took the last few steps that separated them.

"It's got nothing to do with that," he said calmly, then, at the disbelieving look sent his way, "Alright, it does. But not in the way that you're thinking. I don't regret letting you into my head, and I haven't got my panties in a twist over you doing it without asking in the first place. Not any more than I did yesterday, at least."

"Then I honestly don't see what reason you might have for wanting to go back, all of a sudden." My, but the Doctor could sound petulant if he wanted to.

Methos sighed and opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come, not with those eyes sizing him up so bluntly. Frustrated, he turned around and put some distance between them, resting his forehead on his palm.

"It was what you said afterwards..."

"I remember saying plenty of things. You'll have to be more specific."

Yes, yes he did. Problem was, he didn't particularly want to be.

"You mentioned the permanent link. Said how it wouldn't be possible for humans to form one, because we're only capable of low-level telepathy."

"Yes?"

He increased the pressure behind his hand, feeling a headache start to come on, a heavy tension somewhere between his temples. "You were wrong."

A long moment of silence that seemed to stretch, then the Doctor spoke. "I take it you mean that other Immortal you mentioned?" When Methos nodded, his voice came again, calmly this time, decisively, "That's impossible."

Methos spun around before he even knew he meant to, anger rising up from somewhere deep inside him. "Don't tell me what's possible!" he shouted, and fuck it, he'd been sure he'd reached some sort of equilibrium with this, but clearly that was not the case. He took a few deep breaths, shakily, eyes screwed shut, somehow managing to lower his voice a little on his next words, although he couldn't quite keep the anguish from seeping in.

"You said I would know if I felt it. Well, I did feel it, and I didn't know, because I had no frame of reference for it, at least not until yesterday. So don't you dare tell me it's not possible, not when I could have been left blissfully unaware if not for you."

He swallowed against the lump in his throat, because he was not going to cry for fuck's sake, and then he felt the Doctor's arms, taking hold of him gently, easing him down onto the cold, hard floor.

"Alright, alright," he shushed him, and Methos couldn't help but chuckle at that, as it was so painfully obvious that it was not alright, so not alright in fact that he was heaving with it, dry sobs wrecking his insides until he eventually managed to breathe again, coming to rest against the Doctor's shoulder in an ironic reversal of last night.

"I'm not saying I don't believe you," the Doctor said when he'd calmed down somewhat, "but it really is exceedingly improbable. You wouldn't be able to say how it happened, would you?"

"What the fuck do I know," Methos returned bitingly, withdrawing to rub his face with one hand. "Still rather new to this whole telepathy business."

The Doctor quirked a lip, wryly. "I can see how it must all be a bit of a shock."

"You don't say." He laughed, the sound ringing out hollowly, then focused on his fingers, chipping a bit of paint off the floor. "We shared a Quickening. Double Quickening, in fact, pretty much at the same time. Was like nothing I ever experienced before, the intensity of it..." His eyes closed involuntarily as he remembered. "And then, well." He shrugged. Let him figure that one out for himself, he certainly wasn't going to go into specifics.

"Ah."

"That's it? Ah?"

"That makes it a little less improbable, I suppose, although I can't exactly say I understand the process." The Doctor rested his chin on his hand, looking up at Methos enquiringly. "Would you like me to check?"

"Check?" He seemed to be doing an awful lot of repeating here, but then again, his mind wasn't precisely up to speed at the moment.

"If there's a link, it'll be accessible in your mind, so I could confirm its presence for you if you want. If there's any doubt left." A frown spread across the Doctor's brow. "Although I suspect it must be buried pretty deep, or I'd have felt some resonance from it last night. Which means it might be a bit painful for you when I reach it."

Of course it would be.

"Any other upside to that, apart from knowing for sure?" Methos queried, not exactly enamoured with the idea.

"Well," the Doctor said slowly, "if you're right and there is a link, and if I'm right and it is buried, then a little nudge could help get you more in tune with it, make you more aware of its presence." He looked Methos straight in the eye during his next words, his expression firm, authoritative. "And trust me, the last thing you want to do with this sort of connection is just ignore it." Then, more sympathetically, "Although you've probably already guessed that yourself, given that you asked to go back."

Methos took a moment to digest this new information, finally figuring that there was no way around it, at least not if he wanted to use this to get MacLeod back on track. The way things stood, he needed any small advantage he could get.

"Alright then," he managed, his lips dry.

"Okay." The Doctor nudged his shoulder until they were sitting face to face, cool fingertips resting against his temples. "I'll try to be gentle," he assured Methos.

And then he was sliding into Methos, softly at first, the same pleasant flow as last night, if not at all sexual this time, and Methos relaxed somewhat, because this wasn't so bad, he could deal with this... But soon enough the sensation changed as he could feel his mind being penetrated more insistently, more deeply, and he seized up reflexively, wanting nothing more than to push this intruder out where he didn't belong. It was completely unlike that first unexpected rush when the Doctor had merged them, because whilst that had been a sharing, this left him feeling isolated and so exposed that he shied away on a purely instinctive level.

"Shhh," the Doctor's voice made his eyes snap open, a calm centre before him. "Just focus on me, look into my eyes. That's it."

Methos obeyed, forcing himself to open, hard as it seemed. It became easier for a moment, but then something connected somewhere, the impact a sharp dissonance that made him lurch, and it _hurt_ , goddamnit, and he thought he was going to throw up...

When his surroundings returned to him, hazily, he was on all fours, panting harshly with no recollection of how he had come to be there. The Doctor was kneeling next to him, smoothing a hand down his back, again and again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered, and Methos felt himself choke, tasting acrid bile in the back of his mouth.

It took a long while for the world to right itself again, for him to feel strong enough to sit back up. That empty feeling, he realised, had turned into a yearning void that filled all of him, called him back with a pull that was almost physical.

"Is it always going to feel like this?" he found himself asking in horror.

The Doctor shook his head emphatically. "Oh no. That's just you being cut off so completely because you're out of space and time at the moment." He gestured vaguely around them. "Should lessen considerably once you're back where you belong, closer to what you remember. Come on." He rose and pulled Methos onto distinctly unsteady feet.

Methos found himself manoeuvred towards the chair and collapsed into it gratefully whilst the Doctor busied himself with levers and knobs on the console

"How much did you see?" it occurred to him to ask.

The Doctor looked over, grimacing slightly. "Not much more than I needed to confirm your suspicion." A weighty pause. "Enough to know that things are... complicated between you and him."

"Story of my life, really," Methos commented ruefully, closing his eyes as exhaustion began to creep over him. "Think if I have it tattooed on my hand I'll learn to stay away from male Immortals in the future?"

"I think it's a bit late for that," the Doctor responded gently.

\---

"Right!" the Doctor said, throwing open the door of the TARDIS, "Abbaye de Chaalis, about 28 miles north of Paris, 28th of August, 1997. Right where I found you, only a day later. Thankfully no one but you noticed the giant Sklaverian infestation, so you should be fine."

Methos blinked against the dim sunlight as he wandered into it. The Doctor had been right, he reflected gratefully. The link inside him was still very much present, but instead of an endless pit it was more of a deep longing, reminding him that something wasn't quite finished yet.

He breathed in deeply, then turned around to look at the lean figure propped against the wooden door which would have been inconspicuous, if not for the impossibly wide space it opened into.

"What about you then?" he questioned quietly.

"Oh, you know. Same old life, saving the universe, travelling on."

The Doctor's grin was wide as he said it, but Methos knew better than that now. A part of him ached to fill the loneliness beneath it, much as he understood it to be impossible.

"Take care of yourself, hmm?" he said softly, resting a palm against the side of the Doctor's face, brushing his bottom lip with his thumb. "After all, you'll probably end up with another silly human just out for cheap thrills, and then where will you be, without me to tell you off for jumping straight into danger?"

He got the strong impression that if it hadn't been a very un-Time-Lordy thing to do, the Doctor would have stuck his tongue out at him.

"You too," he said instead, and they both knew that he didn't mean ending up with silly humans.

Methos took a long moment to memorise the lines of his face, his eyebrows, the soft curve of his lips, before he leant in with a murmured "Thank you." to meet them with his own. The kiss was undemanding, a brief flare of contact as the Doctor responded softly, an acknowledgement of understanding between them more than anything else.

Then Methos turned around, striding away. He kept walking even as he heard the familiar noise of the TARDIS disappearing in the background, feeling surprisingly calm as he took in the pleasant surroundings of the Holy Ground he'd fled to on instinct. He could do this, he decided, or at least he could give it a damn good try.

He was debating strategies, possible plans of action – should drop by the barge first of all, then check in with Joe to see if MacLeod was still around or where he might have gone if not – when he passed by a display of newspapers outside the little shop that sold mementos and trinkets.

"Le Monde" was cheerfully and brightly informing him that today was the 2nd of March, 1999.

He swore under his breath in a number of dead languages, stopping only when it became obvious that he was drawing attention to himself from the odd looks that several tourists shot in his direction.

Oh, bloody hell. Wasn't this just fucking typical? If he ever came across that cocky up-himself git and his useless waste of a time machine again, he was so going to rip him a new one. One and a half years off, and he dared to call himself a Lord of Time?

With a frustrated sigh he set out towards where he'd left his car, hoping against hope that it hadn't been towed off yet. Knowing the right people might allow him to crash overnight in what was a museum these days, but these things had their limits. Thankfully he thought he could make out the familiar lines of his Volvo, and he lengthened his strides as he moved past the Abbey's gates.

That, of course, was when he ran into Morgan Walker.


End file.
